Rex Reed...feared film critic dapper! Articulate and outspoken...

 

Mint Julip, please!

Occasionally, I get the urge to pick up a specific newspaper or magazine.

Generally, that is a sign (my inner voice speaking) that there is an article or news item in the publication that warrants my scrutiny.

Or, just maybe, right for a post that day!

Sure enough, when I responded to the calling earlier this week by plucking up a disgarded copy of Beverly Hills (213) off a diner's table in a trendy watering hole on Canon Drive, I was not disappointed.

Rex Reed graced the cover in a publicity still that underscored what a smart-looking man-about-town he truly is (regardless of the occasional bad rap - and subsequent  baggage- that he hauls along in his shadow).

In fact, as I gazed upon the image, I couldn't help but notice his stylish attire was impeccable in every sense of the word (correctly-knotted tie, right amount of shirt sleeve peering out from the jacket sleeve, a collar that framed his cravat just so) from the get-go.

Suddenly, it struck me like a bolt of lightning, that Reed was a likely candidate for next year's prestigious Best-Dressed Men's list.

And the eyes - well - they are devastating also.

Rex is (quite simply) the country gentleman personified (in this photograph anyway) provided the acid tongue is kept firmly in check (cheek?).

The career profile was entertaining to peruse as well.

The editors noted that Reed is the most-known, well-respected, and most-feared film critics of all time.

Darn, I thought that was my slot in life!

No matter.

In respect to that dubious title, he notes for the record - after being queried about his well-earned status - that it doesn't worry him a bit about the possibility of running into a subject he has dragged through coals by virtue of a nasty film review.

"I just say what I believe (!) and that is why I have a career."

"Do you know how many people were movie critics when I first started out? Nobody even remembers their names and they're not even around anymore and they've completely vanished - even the ones who did not die - vanished!"

"I'm still here doing this," he no doubt smiled with a cheshire grin during the interview.

"Why?"

"Because I never compromise and the one thing I will say is because I have good taste (Myra Breckenridge an example of it?) And am I a snob? YES!  I'm a snob about mediocrity. I'm up to my eyeballs in second-rated-ness."

Is "second-rated-ness" actually a legit term in the dictionary?

Doesn't matter.

If Rex has coined the son-of-a-gun, it's downright kosher, alright.

One of the perks of being a legend in one's own mind, I expect, eh?

When asked about the state of the film industry, he turned bug-eyed (I imagine) and wailed that the biz depended entirely on the people who won't settle for second best (Reed and moi, of course).

The film critic was livid about the fact that few filmgoers were lining up to see a handful of recent faves  making the rounds of movie Theatres - "Up in the Air", "Public Enemies", "The Last Station" - for instance.

On the other hand, he quipped viciously that Sherlock Holmes was an absolute noisy, filthy, horrible, stupid, disgrace of a movie that was making a lot of money nonetheless.

I laughed when he also snarled that "Hurt Locker" was the best movie you'd never want to see twice.

Not primed or ready to become a classic, huh,  Rex?

Rex would prefer that movies illuminate the human condition - enlighten and inspire - too.

"James Cameron really doesn't know about life. His movies are about teenage comic book fantasies."

I suppose old age is creeping in and that Rex is subsequently losing his memory; after all, if my own grey cells  serve me right, I recall that Cameron directed one of the biggest block-buster romances of all time ever to grace the screen (Titanic).

Ooops!

But, nobody's perfect.

Rex has already written his epitaph to explain away his side of things on this mortal coil.

"He (Rex Reed) tried to make things better."

Amen!

Rex with Raquel Welch on set!

(Myra Breckinridge)

http://www.thetattler.biz

Raquel Welch...has heavy breather!

A few years ago, friends of mine owned a local answering service.

Mike was a struggling actor, and his partner - Holly - a ventriloquist. Both were talented artists trying to make a go of it in Tinsel town.

They hatched up the idea to make ends meet until their ships came in, and were delightfully surprised when their business acumen surpassed all their wildest expectations.

"A Professional Answer" became a huge success in the community at large and not just with celebrities.

Of course, message services were precursors to those pesky little cell phone dealies that dominate the landscape now.

Who knew?

Yes, leading-edge technology was about to take off, and transform the communications industry forever.

Meanwhile, Mike and Holly made a lot of hay while the sun shone.

Initially, the duo started off on a shoestring budget; practically working out of a closet on the Sunset strip in West Hollywood.

In due time, the hard-working stiffs had nabbed high-profile clients like John Travolta, Kaye Ballard, Allan Carr, George Maharis, and Alice Cooper.

One day, Mike just about went through the roof when Raquel Welch dialed up and requested service. After all, the ultra-sultry sex Goddess was his fave megastar.

He implored all of his employees,

"I don't care if you have to get down on your knees and kiss her p****, just make her happy. And, don't ever run the risk of losing her as a client."

On occasion, I lent a hand in the cramped charming little office; usually in the twilight hours when the calls tended to run at a snail's pace.

The answering service still facilitated the old PBX Boards; you know, like the ones that famed comedienne - Lily Tomlin - made famous in her "Ernestine" the operator skits. (By the way, Ms. Tomlin was a client, too. That's another story, later!)

So, when a phone would ring, the board would light up. Just like in the sketch with Lily, one signal would count for one ringie-dingie.

On the third ringie-dingie (unless specified by the client) the operators assumed that the individual was out or inclined to not answer - and so - would proceed to pick up and jot down a message.

As I was glued to the screen of a lowly Black and White TV, devouring scenes from - "Mary Hartman Mary Hartman" - the Curtis line lit up.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention that. Raquel Welch's plain old "married name" - Curtis -used on the service.

Near the end of a big belly laugh, triggered by a hilarious quip on the off-beat comedy show, the third ringie-dingie sounded. So, I stretched my long elegant hand across the board, snapped up the black cord, and plugged into the Curtis line to answer the call.

"Curtis residence," I answered smartly.

There was a brief silence, then - oh-my-God - I heard a distinct heavy breathing.

As I was about to utter a response, suddenly I heard Raquel say,

"Hello. Hello?"

There was no verbal response, only heavy passionate breathing.

"Is that you, Ms. Curtis?" I queried in my most-bestest professional tone of voice.

At this juncture, Raquel noted she was experiencing a problem with a heavy-breather or something.

I instructed her to call me back on the trunk line (where clients dialed in for their messages) so we could continue the discussion in private.

She did. So, we continued.

According to Ms. Welch, whenever she picked up the phone, some wacko was on the end of the line breathing heavy.

More importantly, Raquel noted she was expecting an important business call from overseas which she did not want to miss.

Alas, what was a girl to do?

In view of the dilemma, I hatched a scheme.

When the phone rang again, I instructed her to pick up the line on the third ring only - at which point - I would plug in on the line in unison with her so the caller would not hear her pick up or be mindful of the fact she had answered the call.

In the event her desired contact was on the phone, I would simply hang up, and she'd continue with the conversation.

On the other hand, if the breather commenced again with his sicko act, Raquel would simply drop the cradle of the telephone and I would deal with the deviant character.

So, we stuck to the plan throughout the evening, until the anonymous caller eventually gave up and packed it in for the night.

"Oh, you were so wonderful," Raquel gushed afterward.

Well, that's why I get paid so handsomely in doughnuts and coffee, 'ya know?


A film Raquel Welch scorched up the screen in!